You've Got an Evil Wicked Way About You
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Sequel to "Save Me Grace." Molly Parker begins her first day of employment in the Barrett household. Much to her chagrin, things do not go smoothly. Rated M: Sexual content
1. Chapter 1

Molly Parker's first morning as an employee in the Barrett household was, in an odd contrast to the circumstances that had brought her there, quiet and calm.

At least it was until Mrs. Barrett awoke at nearly the same time that Mr. Ambrose elected to come through the front door.

Molly nervously fluttered about the kitchen, horribly aware of Mr. Ambrose staring at her intently over the mug of coffee she'd given him while Mrs. Barrett screeched at Mr. Barrett on the floor above her.

She sounded like a pleasant woman, Molly thought wryly.

Her morning had been going very well. She'd awoken expecting that she'd dreamed the whole thing, and was pleasantly surprised to find that she hadn't. Her life had actually taken a turn for the better out of some very strange happenings.

She had cautiously traversed the ground floor of the house, unsure as to where she should begin her day. Mr. Barrett was already awake and in his office, looking exhausted. She'd felt a twinge of pity for him as she observed the dark, sunken hollows beneath his eyes.

"Molly," he'd said, a small smile on his lips. "Early riser like myself, I see." His gray eyes studied her with friendly interest. "Sleep well?"

She was too shy to actually answer him, and so she'd nodded like a fool. Even remembering it now, her cheeks burned a bit.

Mr. Barrett had seemed to sense that, and had very gently coaxed her into a conversation. He truly was a very kind man.

Unfortunately, he was a very kind man who was on the receiving end of screams from his shrew of a wife at the present moment.

She immediately shoved those thoughts aside. She had yet to meet Mrs. Barrett; she may be an entirely lovely woman. She mustn't judge her based upon her private business with her husband.

Molly turned and her eyes caught Mr. Ambrose. He was still staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face. He looked exhausted as well, but Molly doubted it was any worry that was keeping him awake last night – it was probably some manner of debauchery and evil-doing. She attempted to chastise herself into shoving these thoughts aside as well, and found that she simply couldn't.

There was a fine line between being judgmental and guarding your own safety. Her thoughts of Mrs. Barrett were unnecessarily judgmental. Her thoughts of Mr. Ambrose, she feared, were not.

"How was your first night, Miss Molly?" The man spoke.

"Fine, sir." She replied, attempting to make herself appear busier than she was.

He snorted. "You don't have to be so formal, sweetheart." She glanced up to see him grinning at her. "Although I do kind of enjoy it."

Those words made her skin crawl for some reason. She couldn't quite understand what he was driving at, but the way he looked at her when he said it…she knew that there was a deeper meaning to his words, and that it was meant to be offensive.

Thankfully, she was saved from any further embarrassment by the arrival of Mr. Barrett, followed by a sullen-looking redhead that he introduced as his wife.

Molly tried to keep an open mind, but that faltered almost immediately. The woman stared at her as if she was nothing more than dirt on her (expensive and entirely impractical) shoes. It was then that Abigail Barrett lost her favor forever.

"I suppose," the woman said by way of greeting, "that we'll need to feed and clothe you, in addition to paying you a ridiculous sum of money?"

"Abigail," Mr. Barrett said warningly.

Mrs. Barrett snapped her mouth shut and stormed out of the room. Mr. Ambrose glanced between the two remaining parties with some amusement.

"I thought Abigail would be happy," he said to Mr. Barrett, enjoying the hard-set line of his jaw and the ruddy flush on his cheeks and ears. "If it causes you much trouble, I'd be happy to take Molly off of your hands."

Barrett's eyes shot to him before glancing at the young girl, who looked terrified at the prospect. "No," he said firmly. "Molly is here to stay."

She managed to flash him a small smile, in spite of her roiling stomach. This morning was not turning out well at all.


	2. Chapter 2

After things had settled, Molly moved into the flow of working – and she was actually working; Mrs. Barrett apparently didn't believe in the notion that a home should be kept clean, another strike against her in Molly's mind.

To her great annoyance, long after Mr. Barrett had disappeared to calm his wife, Mr. Ambrose lingered. She attempted to ignore his eyes on her and found that she wasn't succeeding.

"Is there something else you need?" She finally asked, glancing up at him while she dusted a display shelf.

The right side of his mouth curled into a smile. "I just like watching you work," he replied slowly. "There's a certain sensuality to your movements that's quite irresistible."

She felt her face flush and turned away, resolving to keep quiet around him in the future.

Ambrose watched her return to her work with a false sense of concentration and barely kept his smile from spreading across his face. This was one of his favorite games – so simple, yet so effective. All he had to do was follow her with his eyes, watching as she became increasingly unsettled. He found that it spoke to a person's character, how they reacted when they were being so obviously watched.

And the one thing that had been confirmed for him about the character of Molly Parker – she was meek. She furtively glanced at him to see if he was still looking, never speaking out or telling him to stop. She had been beaten down, that much was obvious.

That fact disappointed him. It wasn't terribly amusing to torment the weak. They were entirely too easy to disarm. The strong ones, the stubborn ones – they provided more of a challenge; they required more cunning and finesse.

Much like the rest of his London experience, this girl was turning into a disappointment.

He kept his unseeing eyes focused on her while his thoughts turned to more satisfactory territory.

For the past few months, he had grown restless. He could feel it, and others could see it. He'd asked Barrett for the backing on a new venture, one that might satiate his appetite for destruction. Bareknuckle fighting was too civilized; there were too many rules. He wanted to start a brawling ring. The winner would be determined by who could still stand in the end. There would be no mercy given, and there would be no quarter for the losers.

It would, he hoped, be the solution to his dissatisfaction…if only he could get it started. Unfortunately, he truly needed Wade Barrett to put his name and reputation behind it. Barrett had been hesitant, but had agreed to consider the idea. Ambrose hoped that today would be the day he finally received his approval and began moving forward.

Otherwise…he wasn't sure what actions he would resort to taking. Sometimes, the darkness in his own mind troubled him.

His thoughts were interrupted when Barrett came in and went straight to Molly. He was being incredibly considerate of the girl's feelings, and if Ambrose didn't know him as well as he did he'd suspect something. As it were, Barrett was soft. He was probably trying to make up for the way she'd arrived here last night.

"When Sheamus arrives today, I'll have him go pick up your belongings," he was saying gently, a hand placed warmly on her shoulder.

Ambrose tried, again, to contain his grin. "Let me go," he interrupted. "Sheamus will be here in hours. I can procure Molly's possessions and be back before lunch. That way, she can have some clean clothes when she meets the good doctor this afternoon."

Barrett's eyes narrowed in reluctance as he considered the idea, and Ambrose knew that he would be the one going. He quickly swallowed down the rest of his coffee and stood up.

"No trouble, do you hear me?" Barrett said in a low tone.

Ambrose stared beyond him at Molly. "No trouble at all," he promised, flashing her a toothy grin.

It did not inspire confidence.


	3. Chapter 3

In a great stroke of luck, the Parker house was empty when Ambrose made his way there. Jumping the gate and popping the door open with ease, he wasted no time in climbing the stairs and entering Molly's former bedroom.

Now he slowed himself. He was holding on to the hope that Molly might not be a timid child, and he hoped to find the proof of that here.

He wasn't sure why that feeling persisted. He simply felt that there was more beneath her surface, and his feelings were usually proven right. He was curious to see if that would be the case this time as well.

With great care that would have surprised Molly, he systematically emptied the drawers in her bureau and packed them away in a suitcase. His fingers traced over the soft cotton of her underthings as he removed them from their respective drawer, but he quickly shook his head and put them in with the rest.

Not the time.

He searched through the small trinket box on top of the stand, finding nothing of real monetary value but several things that were obviously important to her in some way. A small pair of battered pearl earrings. Several dried, brittle rose petals – he guessed that they might have been red at one time. A delicate pink seashell the size of his smallest fingernail, yet perfectly symmetrical and well-preserved. And, most curious, a jagged piece of green glass. He nearly stabbed himself on it before seeing it in the bottom of the box and removing it with care.

Nothing he could decipher, although his interest was piqued. He laid the box in with the rest, making a mental inventory of its contents. Then, he turned his attention towards her nightstand.

It was filled, nearly to the brim, with books. Various novels, none of the trashy romantic variety that he'd expected. Tales of courage and valor; tales of brave knights and ordinary men performing extraordinary acts.

A small smile spread across his lips. One of the few young ladies who was drawn towards the good in men, it would seem. How unfortunate for him.

He slid open the small drawer and noted a small leather-bound volume with no title on the cover. Flipping it open, he saw flowing handwriting spreading across pages.

The realization dawned on him abruptly. This was not a novel. This was the exact thing he had been searching for – a way to get inside of that pretty little head.

He packed the rest of the books in with her clothes and trinkets, feeling a bit of pity that her whole life could be contained so easily in one suitcase.

Tucking her diary into his jacket pocket, he made his way back to the Barrett house with a new spring in his step.

For the first time in perhaps ever, Dean Ambrose was overjoyed by the prospect of spending the afternoon with a book.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly returned to her room that night entirely exhausted and incredibly excited at the potential for a solid night of sleep.

Her afternoon had been spent with Doctor Callahan, who had given her very basic instruction in medicine and a very long list of books to read on the subject. While she found most of the material fascinating, it did make for an interesting problem of making her head feel as if it was continually spinning on her neck at a very rapid pace.

When she felt her sense of equilibrium return, she might attempt to discover the name of that particular medical condition.

Yawning wildly, she pushed the door to her bedroom open and stopped short at the sight before her.

Mr. Ambrose was on her bed, head propped on the pillow and legs crossed at the ankles, reading a book. She had a brief moment to wonder if she'd entered the wrong room before recognizing the book in his hands with sick horror.

"Molly," he said, nodding without looking up. "Nearly finished. Give me a moment, please."

Blinking rapidly and stunned into a stupor, she woodenly sat in the chair beside the small writing table she'd been given. Her weary mind tried to work on this problem before her, and found that she could only constantly repeat one thought – she had known that his retrieval of her possessions had gone too smoothly.

After several moments, he made the exaggerated show of closing the book and staring at her. "Quite an interesting thing to read," he finally said. "You're not at all who you seem."

She met his eyes before briefly looking away. "And just who do I seem? You, who have known me for a grand total of forty-eight hours, surely know best."

He managed a small laugh. "That's a fair point, I suppose." He paused, still studying her. "How long had you planned on killing your father?"

Her head shot up and she stared at him, but she said nothing.

"You're so full of anger. There are several points where the pen nearly punctures the paper you were bearing down so hard."

"My life was not easy," she finally said. "Now you know that truth. Are you satisfied?"

"No," he replied. "There is still so much more that I want to know."

"I'm afraid you won't get any answers." She stood and pointed to the door. "Please leave."

He was on his feet in a moment, stepping towards her. "I'll get what I came here for," he said, a hard edge to his voice.

"What was that, exactly?"

His hands shot out quickly and yanked the front of her dress down beneath her breasts. Startled, she backed away with her arms crossed over her chest. He smiled, but there was no joy in it.

"Molly May," he said, shaking his head. "I want to see if that pretty flush on your cheeks extends down to your nipples. Are they the same sweet, rosy pink?"

"Get out," she replied, trying to steel her voice while attempting to wrestle herself back into her dress. She was afraid that some of the authority she hoped to convey was lost as a result.

"No," he answered simply. "No, I don't think I will."

He took several steps towards her very quickly and pulled her arms down to her sides. She closed her eyes and tried to control her racing thoughts. She had several ideas on how to handle this situation. However, killing a man on her first day of employment seemed to be a bit foolish and that fact eliminated nearly all of them.

His fingers lightly traced down the curve of her breast before he took the whole of it in his hand and lightly squeezed.

"Your skin is flawless," he said quietly. "Soft and perfect."

Before she could respond, his hand moved away. She almost opened her eyes, thinking that this strange encounter was over. However, almost the moment she had that thought she felt both of his hands on her breasts, gently pushing them together.

She felt a gentle tickling sensation and finally opened her eyes, curious, to see that it was a small tuft of his hair. He had dropped to his knees in front of her and as she watched, he leaned forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth.

Purely out of instinct, her foot shot out and she kicked him in the stomach.

He fell back, a wheezing sound flying past his lips. She took the moment he was incapacitated to pull her dress back up.

"Get. Out." She repeated through clenched teeth. "You have no right."

The amused half-smile had finally dropped off his face. He slowly climbed to his feet, pale and clutching his stomach.

"You'll regret that," he said, stepping past her on his way towards the door.

"No, I think you will. Mr. Barrett won't like hearing this."

He spun around quickly and a bitter laugh escaped his lips. "You listen to me, sweetheart," he replied, a sneer frozen on his face. "Say a goddamn word and I'll have your pretty little tongue in a jar on my mantle. Don't _fuck_ with me."


	5. Chapter 5

As Dean Ambrose stormed out of the Barrett household in a black mood, Molly tried to collect herself.

She knew almost immediately that sleep was going to escape her for the night. He'd been in her bed. There was no way she could sleep until she'd washed everything in scalding water.

Resigning herself to the notion of a hard night ahead and a terrible tomorrow, she left her bedroom and made her way to the study. She thought she might get a head start on some of the books Doctor Callahan had left her. Maybe she could find the reason her stomach had swooped uncomfortably when Mr. Ambrose had put his mouth on her.

She was lost in her thoughts and stopped short when she saw that she wasn't the only one awake this evening.

"Molly," Mr. Barrett said, surprised. "I thought you'd gone to bed."

She managed a strained smile. "Trouble sleeping. I thought I'd get a start on reading, but I can do that in my room and leave you in peace."

"No, that's not necessary," he said, shaking his head. "Sit."

Cautiously, she made her way to one of the easy chairs. The pillow and blanket on the sofa did not escape her attention.

"Did I get you in trouble with Mrs. Barrett?" She asked before she really considered if that was an appropriate question or not.

He glanced at her and managed a small smile. "No, you didn't get me in trouble with Mrs. Barrett. _I_ got me in trouble with Mrs. Barrett." He laughed. "Truthfully, it's a very easy thing to do." He stood up and made his way to a cabinet in the corner, taking out a bottle and two glasses. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes," Molly answered immediately, surprising even herself. She glanced in her lap to see her hands shaking. The situation with Mr. Ambrose must have bothered her more than she'd cared to admit.

Mr. Barrett's eyebrows crept up his forehead, but he said nothing. He turned his back and poured them both a substantial amount of liquor before returning and handing her a glass. He pointedly ignored how her hands shook, for which she was forever grateful.

She swallowed down the liquid quickly, ignoring both the taste and the burning sensation in her throat. Mr. Barrett raised one eyebrow, but downed his own glass just as quickly before collecting their glasses and pouring again.

"Tough first day?" He asked as he came back. "Or do you usually drink like a sailor on shore leave?"

Molly was surprised when she laughed. "First drink ever, I'll have you know," she replied, reaching out to take her second glass from him. Their hands brushed lightly and her heart was suddenly beating rapidly in her chest.

"So tough first day then," he surmised, taking a seat across from her. "Are we really that bad?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "You're not bad at all," she answered. "Mrs. Barrett is…different…than what I had expected."

He smiled wryly. "She's a bitch, you mean."

"Not necessarily a…no, no," Molly tried to backpeddle miserably, not quite noticing the growing twinkle of amusement in Mr. Barrett's eyes.

"Molly," he interrupted, leaning towards her and putting one of his large hands over hers, "I married her. I know what she is. You're not going to offend me."

She could feel heat rising in her cheeks, and Mr. Barrett suddenly pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned. She had a moment to feel hurt before she realized that he was simply trying to behave appropriately. If it was at all possible to do so, she admired him even more in that moment. Especially after what she had gone through with Mr. Ambrose earlier in the evening.

"If you knew what she was," Molly said, throwing all caution to the wind, "why did you marry her?"

Mr. Barrett smiled. "I thought I'd knocked her up."

The answer – and his blunt way of stating it – surprised her, and her face must have shown as much, and elicited a laugh out of him.

"Did I just shock you?" He asked, grinning. "I wasn't quite the proper gentleman in my youth." He paused. "As it turns out, I didn't put her in the family way," he continued. "But by the time I'd discovered that little fact, we were already married."

Molly shook her head. "She gives decent women a bad name," she said darkly, taking another drink.

"Oh I don't know," Mr. Barrett replied. "All women – and men, for that matter – really, all of us have our idiosyncrasies. All of us have some darkness to us, I think."

"Some more than others," she answered, thinking of Mr. Ambrose, who was more dark than light.

"Yes," he agreed. "Some much more than others."

Their eyes met briefly before they each looked away. The weight of the night had settled on Molly, and she was starting to feel as if she might sleep after all.

"I think," she said slowly, looking down into her glass instead of at her companion, "that I should attempt sleep again."

He nodded. "I think that's probably a good idea." He stood and gently took the glass from her hands. "We fight tomorrow night. You should be ready."


	6. Chapter 6

Wade watched her leave, weaving a little unsteadily on her feet. She hadn't lied about her inexperience with alcohol. Given her past, he could understand why she avoided the stuff.

He took another drink of his own, his mind working furiously. He didn't believe that he was a stupid man, but he was also smart enough to know his knowledge wasn't infinite. Something was bothering her when she'd come in; and it was something more than a difficult first day.

And, thanks to his wife, it had indeed been a difficult day.

He rolled his eyes and sighed aloud. When they first married, he thought that he might get used to her childish ways and her tantrums. He hoped, although without much fervor, that she might even grow out of them. After five years, neither had proven to be true. He grew wearier of her every day, and she acted out accordingly.

Not an ideal situation. Not really an ideal life.

It seemed to get more complicated all the time. Things were supposed to settle when you married. Things were supposed to calm down and you were supposed to grow into a stable, responsible man.

Instead, he was sleeping on the sofa and drinking with the new maid that his wife loathed for no reason. He was doing his best not to run upstairs and beg his wife to help him build a life that made sense instead of fighting against him at every turn.

He'd failed as a husband. He'd failed as a provider. He'd failed, quite simply, as a man.

"Then to hell with sobriety," he muttered, downing the last of the liquor in his glass and standing to pour himself another one.

If he couldn't be a good man, a drunken one would do just as well.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean Ambrose had left the Barrett household the previous evening in a positively murderous frame of mind.

He was not accustomed to being denied when he wanted something. And he had wanted that girl last night.

As he'd walked out the door, his stomach still sore and his substantial erection aching maddeningly, he swore that he'd have her before the week was out.

A trip to the brothel – where he'd had to pay a handsome sum after he'd marked up that whore's face – and a night of fighting had calmed him considerably.

Ambrose's downfall wasn't his intellect – he was, in fact, an intelligent man. His fault was his rashness. He could be impatient, and that was exactly what had happened last night. He had rushed with Molly.

Some things could be taken by force. In fact, some things _should_ be taken by force in his mind. She wasn't one of them. If she'd been a little more spirited – and that kick didn't count; he knew it had been a wounded animal merely defending itself – it would have been more sporting. But forcing himself on a beaten woman was no challenge.

The challenge would lie in making her want to be with him; the challenge was in making her a willing participant.

It was with this in mind that he kept his distance from her as she worked. He was doing his best not to convey hostility, and tried to watch her only when her back was turned.

She and Doctor Callahan worked through the other men in the room, the doctor stitching faces and re-setting noses while Molly worked on clean-up duty. She seemed to take it with good grace, although she looked a bit pale.

Ambrose attempted to relax, knowing he would be last on their priority list. He only had a small cut under his eye and some bruised, bloody knuckles. He'd given far worse than he'd gotten tonight. "You the big winner tonight, Mr. Ambrose?" The doctor asked wearily as he finally made his way over. Molly was still mopping up the mess left in the wake of Sheamus' broken nose.

"I did all right," he replied, attempting modesty.

"You look a lot better than the others. Molly, fresh needle and thread please. Then come over here and take care of Mr. Ambrose's hands."

She brought his implements within minutes, leaving the Irishman to hold a rag to his own face. Not sparing a moment to look directly into his eyes, she knelt beside his chair and began gently washing away the dried blood on his hands.

Ambrose winced when the needle went in and his hands jerked reflexively. She paused for a moment before resuming her chore, a bit more hurried than before. Although he quickly became accustomed to the sensation of the needle sliding in and out of his skin, his flexed his hands again and lightly caught Molly by the wrist.

"Almost done," the doctor murmured. "You're not usually so jumpy."

"New spot. Hurts," he replied, trying to keep his face from moving too much. He slipped his hand upward and carefully wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing lightly as the needle went in.

He could feel her discomfort, but she didn't pull away. He took that as a good sign.

As the doctor finished his last stitch and tied everything off, he gave her fingers one last gentle squeeze before he pulled his hand away. She didn't quite rush away from him in response, but she did move rather abruptly.

She returned to the Irishman, checking his nose to see if it had stopped bleeding. It had. With the gentlest smile and touch possible, she finished cleaning the blood off of his face. He gave her a shy grin, and Ambrose felt his stomach clench.

Absolutely not.

He made a careful show of leaving for the night, and then waited while the others actually left. As the last man – a weary-looking Doctor Callahan – walked out the door, he doubled back.

Molly was on her hands and knees, wiping droplets of blood off of the floor. He tried, and was unable, to suppress a smile.

"I hope," he said slowly, enjoying her startled expression, "that your first fight night didn't scare you away."

"No," she replied warily, sitting back on her heels and staring at him. "No, it was fine. Did you forget something?"

"I wanted to speak to you about last night," he replied, keeping his eyes trained on her while he found a seat. "More specifically, I wanted to apologize."


	8. Chapter 8

Her face showed her skepticism without any attempt to shield her emotions.

"I'm not sorry for what I did," he explained. "I'm not sorry that I was able to see you at least partially undressed or that, for a brief moment, I was able to taste your skin. But I am sorry for the way I went about it. You…you seem to bring out a very," he paused, as if searching for the right word. "You bring out a very _barbaric_ side of me, my dear."

He flashed her a toothy smile. "I can't help myself around you."

"Then perhaps you should stay away from me," she replied, her voice hard.

He laughed merrily, although her answer surprised him. "I can't," he replied simply. "I could, of course, if you left – but I don't believe you will. And I am here to stay. Believe that. So that puts us at an impasse, Miss Molly."

He stood and walked towards her very quickly. "Unless, of course…." He grabbed her by the arms suddenly and yanked her to her feet, pushing her into the wall and covering her mouth with his hand before she could cry out. "Unless, of course," he repeated, "you decide to give me what I want from you."

His free hand worked steadily up her skirt until his fingers lightly brushed her panties. Her eyes registered her horror, but he smiled blandly at her and pressed his body against hers. It was mostly to keep her pinned in place, but he did so enjoy the feel of her against him.

Staring into her eyes, he pushed the fabric aside and lightly brushed her bare skin with his hand. She was so soft, so warm. He let his finger lightly part her lips and found the small nub he was searching for.

He started stroking it slowly at first, rubbing in a circular motion and then in a side-to-side way. He felt her respond more to the second, and so he continued with that, pleased when his fingers began to slide easily against her.

Her eyelids started to flutter and he felt her breathing pick up behind his hand. Unable to suppress a smirk, he slid his hand away from her mouth and replaced it with his lips. He parted her lips with his tongue and lightly played it in and out of her mouth in rhythm with his fingers. She didn't kiss him back, but he hadn't expected her to.

Finally, he felt her body tense against his. He moved his fingers faster, his kiss becoming more insistent and his free hand lightly stroking over the contours of her breasts. He could feel her nipples getting harder every time he ran his fingers over them and found himself wishing he could pull her dress down again. He nearly did it, actually, until the small part of his brain that was actually focused on the bigger picture reminded him that it wasn't a part of the plan.

He was nearly ready to throw that plan out the window, but Molly chose that precise moment to have her first orgasm. Her body shook violently and her eyes clenched shut, a strangled moan escaping her lips and being smothered by his.

He slowed his fingers, smiling, and then pulled back to look at her. She was still eyeing him warily through half-lidded eyes, but she didn't call out for anyone. He leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips against her forehead, letting his fingers stop and slide towards her entrance.

"No," she said, trying to squirm away from him.

"Shh," he replied. "I'm not going to take it." He slid his finger partially inside of her, stopping when he encountered resistance. She was tight and wet and completely untouched. He felt himself throb at the thought of how it would feel the first time.

But, true to his word, he didn't push any further. He withdrew his fingers and, while she looked on in horror, he put them in his mouth and licked them clean.

He smiled at her lazily. "Oh Molly," he murmured, bending to kiss her again. "You are perfect in every way possible. You even taste sweet."

Disgust crept onto her face, but he could see an underlying hint of shame. So she'd enjoyed it. Good.

"I hope you'll forgive me for last night," he continued. "I hope you found this apology…acceptable." He took her by the chin and brought her face up to his again. "I couldn't bear it if you were still upset with me. My sweet Molly."

She wrenched away from him, still trembling.

"You are vile," she said in a low voice.

His smile grew wider. "And you enjoyed every moment of it," he replied, a hard edge to his voice. To prove his point, he put his fingers in his mouth again.

He could see the disgust and anger on her face, and the brief moment her eyes filled with tears, before she turned and walked away.

He let her go.

He'd proven his point.

For now.


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you, again, for reading/reviewing/favoriting, etc. The next part is up - "But Your Kiss Won't Leave Me Be." Enjoy!


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